


Prompts

by Danudane



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: AUs, Ficlets, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, a little smut, immortal au, mostly unrelated, tumblr requests
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-16
Updated: 2015-10-08
Packaged: 2018-03-23 05:43:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 19,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3756622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Danudane/pseuds/Danudane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of mostly unrelated ficlets / prompt fills from tumblr, focused on Arno x Axeman, Greencoat x Icecream. <br/>*I've given the three others names*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. No Rest for the Wicked

**Author's Note:**

> Axeman (Abélard), Greencoat (Arluin), Icecream (Albain) 
> 
> Prompt: Could I request a prompt of the green, white, axe assassins (from the trailer) treating Arno's severe injuries from a mission-gone-wrong or an ambush?

A series of three shots, almost simultaneous, split the air like thunder.  
It was an unfortunate fourth that split Arno’s skin and embedded itself in his chest.  
The force of the musket ball knocked him back, and nearly off his feet. The young assassin did not even need to call out his injury, for his companions had heard the pained gasp and saw how quickly Arno had gone pale.  
The last thing he remembered- aside from the burning in his chest- was falling into Abélard’s arms.

Everything after that was a blur. His vision hazy at best, and a heavy weight on his chest. He could hardly breath. Sometimes faint voices turned to hurried words, and then yelling. And then darkness again. Why did it seem so comforting? Either way, he did not like feeling so cold.

The two other assassins quickly went to work as Abélard held Arno down. The boy had become delirious, as he faded in and out of consciousness. Too much movement would only further blood loss and potentially worsen the injury.

“The musket ball is deep, I will need tools-” Arluin pulled the outer layers of clothing away from the wound.

“He could bleed out if you remove it-” Albain spoke up. “We should take him to a doctor.”

“There’s no time.” Arluin replied, pressing a wad of cloth to Arno’s wound in an attempt to slow the bleeding.

“Will you two just decide? He’s going to—” Abélard stopped as Arno let out a weak cough, and then a wheezing breath.

“To the Cafe Theatre, then.” Albain spoke up. It was true, they were far from any doctor, and the compound that Arno had come to own was their best bet.

Getting him there had been easier said than done, but Abélard had carried him the entire way.

When they finally arrived, the youngest assassin was deathly pale and his breathing was far too shallow for any of their liking. For all their efforts it seemed they might just have gotten him to safety too late.

Still, the three were in no mood to give up on him yet, and with the help of a few others employed at the Cafe, they went to work on saving Arno’s life.

………..

Several hours later, and Arno’s blood still on his hands, Abélard sighed and dropped his head. The younger man was still alive, but barely.  
The physician on the premises doubted Arno would last the night, but did not force despair on the others and had kept the opinion to himself.

The white coated assassin approached Abélard, handing him a damp but clean cloth. “You should clean yourself up.” He forced a smile, and sat down heavily not far from him.

Abélard simply nodded, staying quiet as he scrubbed the dried blood from his hands and between his fingers. He looked over at Arno, who had been stripped out of his coat and now had a thick layer of bandages wound around his shoulder and upper chest. They would have to be changed every so often to avoid any chance of infection. At least he was still thinking ahead- he knew the physician who had helped them did not think so optimistically. He’d seen the look on doctor’s faces before.  
But they would not give up on the younger assassin so easily. Not while he was still breathing.

………..

It was nearly three days, and three very exhausted assassins later when Arno finally showed real signs of improvement. His breathing had become deeper, and what appeared to be more easily sustained. His color had not completely returned to normal, but it was certainly better than how pale he had been before.  
It was later that night, the room lit only by the dim firelight, that the youngest assassin finally woke.

When Arno came to, he almost wish he hadn’t. The lancing pain in his chest had at least dulled, but it was far from a pleasant sensation.  
He managed to turn his head and see his friends asleep on different pieces of furniture around the room. Abélard was even snoring, lightly. If he hadn’t known better he would have laughed at the sight, but instead he attempted to call for the other man.  
“Abélard..” The first try came much quieter than he wanted, and even more hoarse than he expected. “Abélard.” He tried again, this time managing to wake the axe wielding assassin, and reaching for him.

Abélard nearly shot up and scrambled to Arno’s side when he realized the younger man had finally woken up. Instead he simply hurried, and carefully took Arno’s outstretched hand in his own.  
“It’s about time. We were just starting to worry.” He smiled, the last part clearly a lie, from the look on his face.

Arno had no desire to argue that, and simply accepted it with a small huff. “Sure.” He replied and with what little energy he had, pulled Abélard closer, and into a weak but still meaningful kiss. “Thank you, for not leaving me…” He sounded apologetic.

“I could very well say the same.” Abélard smiled, largely in relief, and rested his forehead against the younger man’s.


	2. Aberration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fear: When Arno is injected with an unknown drug from a mini-Templar raid, he hallucinates and believes that the other three assassins are demon Templars trying to kill him. Arno runs from them and fights them recklessly when they corner him. The other three restrain him with great trouble and tries to snap Arno out of the fear-inducing drug.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Axeman (Abélard), Greencoat (Arluin), Icecream (Albain)

It was not often that the assassins were challenged so boldly on their own turf. At the same time, it hardly came as surprise to any of them. The four had been discussing information they’d gathered on a Templar that had disguised himself as nobility when the glass windows shattered all at once.  
The intruders all wore bright red crosses on the front of their coats, making their allegiance all too obvious.  
One of the five Templars threw down a smoke bomb, instantly filling most of the room with a thick haze, in hopes of catching the assassins even more off guard.

Fortunately, it did not take more than a second for the assassins to react, each of them arming themselves with their nearest weapon. A flurry of blades and slashes followed, and within moments three of the five Templars were laying in bloody heaps on the ground. Arno was busy with the final two, and cut down the fourth man before his heightened senses warned him something was approaching. He turned just in time to block what he thought was just a gloved fist, but something thin and sharp drove straight through his leather bracer and bit deep into his arm.  
Arno cursed, and repaid his attacker with with a hidden blade to the face. A wave of dizziness greeted him immediately afterwards, so much so that he grabbed for the nearest sturdy object. Arno’s free hand went to his face and he covered his eyes as an attempt to keep the room from spinning.

Abélard moved through the now dissipating smoke to check on Arno, mildly concerned the boy had received a minor injury.

It was experience that told the the older assassins that something had been off from the beginning. These Templars were not skilled enough to pose a real threat, and had clearly attacked them from some other purpose.

Arluin and Albain were the first to discover the intruders’ more sinister purpose. The both of them were each crouched over a dead Templar, examining what appeared to be a modified hidden blade- a design stolen from the assassins themselves. The weapon was more of a needle than an actual blade, clearly made for delivering poison. Arluin pulled the gauntlet, from the dead Templar’s arm and sniffed at the substance now beading at the tip of the needle, immediately reeling back. It smelt more foul than he’d expected, and voiced his findings.  
“They had poison in their blades. I do not know what kind.” The green coated assassin stood back up and looked to his three companions.

Arno’s shaking form was finally visible, and Abélard’s heart sunk when he realized what seemed to have happened. The final Templar had managed to stab Arno with the poison blade.  
The axe bearing assassin quickly closed the distance between himself and the younger man, but was shocked by the look on his face when his head lifted.

The air itself seemed to twist and turn in Arno’s delusional state. He gasped and clutched tighter to the table he had been leaning against. His pupils dilated and a cold sweat was already forming across his brow. In front of him stood three demons, surely possessing the bodies of Templars. Their eyes were pitch black, and their skin pale. A dark mist seeped off them, while the cross on the front of their chests appeared to burn like fire.  
“No! Stay back!” Arno’s hand shot out as if to stop the demons, and he staggered back. His heartbeat thumped in his chest, and fear grew rapidly in his gut. Demons were not real, so why were they standing in front of him? What did they want from him?

Abélard saw pure terror in the boy’s eyes, and it had him extremely worried. What the poison had him seeing was anyone’s guess, but what concerned him most was what they could do to cure it. And to cure Arno, they would have to catch him and keep him calm. It was no surprise that the boy seemed quite opposed to this, in his current state.  
“Arno, stay calm. We are trying to help you-” Abélard stood where he was, but attempted to quiet Arno.

The biggest demon spoke forward in a low growl, tempting him to join them.  
“I said stay back!” Arno swung his sword in a wild arc, again trying to keep the demonic figures from moving any closer.

Arluin glanced at the other two, prompting them to do something quick.  
“He’s hallucinating. We need to restrain him. There’s no telling where he will go or what he will do, if he gets away.”

Such a feat, however, would be easier said than done. And before the three of them could grab for Arno, he took off. His dizziness had all but disappeared, the adrenaline fueled by fear and shock now driving him to flee. He parkoured over the table and another nearby chair, which sent it toppling over. He ran through the door, his heartbeat thumping a mile a minute in his chest.  
Arno’s breathing was already rapid and uneven, but he did not slow down. He scrambled through the doorway and into the next room, his movements unpredictable as he did his best to escape.

More furniture toppled and a few vases broke as the three ran flat out to catch up to their ill friend.

A busted door, upturned chairs, and some loud thuds later had Abélard and Albain tackling the youngest assassin and attempting pin him down. Even with their combined strength, it was not easy. The adrenaline pumping through Arno’s veins had him fighting with near inhuman strength. Of course, he thought he was being held down by three demons, which only made him fight harder.

Again, Abélard pleaded with the younger man to see through whatever illusions the poison had clouded his mind with.

“Arno, listen to me. You have been poisoned. It is us. Abélard, Arluin, and Albain.” The axe bearing assassin used his own body weight to keep Arno down, earning a few cuts before he was able to pin his arm as well.  
Eventually, their efforts paid off and the boy simply exhausted himself.

Unfortunately, he showed no sign of coming around, his eyes still wide and his gaze unfocused, darting back and forth.

“No- no! Get away from me!” His voice shook, and sounded strained as he gasped for air underneath the three others. The dark mist continued to seep off them and surrounded him. He was afraid to breath it in, and turned his head away. Cold sweat dripped freely from his forehead now, and he believed this would be his end, one way or another. Either he would die, or become one of the demons.

Arluin knew they did not have a lot of time before the boy went into shock, and so he moved to find the only substance that might snap him out of it.  
“Hold him down, I will be right back.” He ran back into the main room, digging through the mess to find the box of medicines they kept on hand. If he had more time, there might have been something more effective, but he did not want to make things worse because they were in a rush. Instead he grabbed a concentrated vial of smelling salts, and hurried back to his fellow assassins.  
“Hold his face still.” Arluin looked to Abélard, who complied, and he waved the vial in front of Arno’s nose.

The boy’s eyes instantly screwed shut and he gasped again, the mixture in front of his nose overwhelming him for a moment.

“Arno, look at me. We are trying to help you.” Abélard spoke again, knowing if there was a window of clarity in Arno’s vision, it would be now.

The young man’s eyes focused for a moment on Abélard’s face- a moment of recognition- before his mind tried to convince him once more these were demonic enemies and nothing more.

“That’s it, boy, don’t lose it now. Focus.” Albain spoke up as Arluin waved the vial in front of him once more.

“It is us. You know us. Listen to my voice, Arno. Breathe, and relax.” Abélard encouraged him, and took the risk of letting up on his hold of the boy’s arm.

Through the fog of his mind, Arno swore he heard his friend’s voices, and once more caught the glimpse of their familiar faces. He closed his eyes and dropped his head back, forcing himself to take deep breaths.

Abélard let up again, this time sitting up to give Arno some space to breathe. “Arno?” He slipped and arm beneath the back of the younger assassin’s shoulders and gently propped him up. 

Arno’s hood fell back in the process, revealing how pale he’d gone. His hair was slick with sweat and his breathing was still ragged, but when he opened his eyes again, the all too apparent fear had faded.  
“Abélard..” He spoke weakly, acknowledging the axe bearing assassin first. “I thought you were…” He trailed off, stopping to swallow- his throat having suddenly gone dry.

“Rest now, you can tell us later.” Abélard replied, his shoulders slumping in relief. The Templars surely would pay for the torment they had caused the boy, he made a promise of that. For now, he only cared that Arno fought of the remaining poison and, and decided to keep watch over him.

Arno barely even registered being lifted by Abélard, and soon fell asleep in the man’s arms.  
He did not stir until a good few hours later, but found his strength had not yet recouped completely.  
What he did see, however, were the three other assassins, curled up in different spots around the room. It became clear they had fallen asleep in waiting for him to wake up. He smiled, and shook his head subtly, thinking they were the delusional ones for sticking with him as they did.


	3. Blind Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emergency: Arno is captured by Templars at night during his solo run. They filled his head with lies that the other three assassins won't come to save him while torturing him. When the three do come, they rescue Arno, but realize that it's a long road to recovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Axeman (Abélard), Greencoat (Arluin), Icecream (Albain)

It had not been long since Arno had been assigned missions on his own, and he had mixed feelings about it.  
On one hand, it gave him a sense of accomplishment and responsibility only for himself. On the other, there was no back up if something went awry.

Still, the young assassin had few reservations about this current outing. He’d expected things to go smoothly, this was supposed to have been a simple reconnaissance mission after all.  
He had trailed a group of Templars to a rather indistinct building, eavesdropping on their conversation the entire way. What he had not expected was the fairly extensive armory they had built up. Swords, spears, muskets, and even barrels of explosives. Already, his plans needed amending. Arno would need to take account of what weapons were stored here, in case he could not claim the storehouse for himself.

His attention returned briefly to the group of Templars, who had suddenly gone quiet. Too quiet, for Arno’s liking. He shifted his weight on the beam of wood he’d been perched on, and it creaked all too inconveniently and would surely give away his position if the Templars were in earshot.

He heard their footsteps, but strangely enough they were not coming at him, and instead hurrying out and away from the building.

Arno cursed and prepared to chase them down, but what came at him next, he never would have guessed. Instead of a second chance, he was greeted by a wall of flame- a thunderous explosion that blinded his vision and sent him flying back and against the wall behind him.

Consciousness left him before he even dropped to the ground, and his body laid there unmoving.

His wake up call was just as unpleasant. A solid slap to the right side of his face had him awake all at once. With the stinging in his cheek came the soreness of his entire body, and he gasped repeatedly.  
Eventually, his breath returned to normal, and he tried to get his bearings.

A task that was hard to do, when his sight was dark. They had blindfolded him- unsurprisingly- but he turned his head from one side to the other, as hearing was his currently his only working sense.

He heard a voice close by laugh, at first, and then speak something that made his heart drop and his stomach churn.

“Haha, look, the boy is blind! That explosion knocked the sight right out of him.” The Templar’s voice grew sinister, all too happy to hear of the assassin’s plight.

Arno’s heartbeat began to race, and he panicked, pulling against his restraints and letting out a defiant cry. He’d now realized there was nothing actually covering his eyes. No strip of fabric tied around his face or bag over his head. Just darkness.  
His brief struggle was rewarded only with another hit, this time what felt like a boot to his ribs.  
Once again the air was forced from his lungs and he collapsed forward, a hoarse gasp being the only noise that escaped him.

He laid there on the hard, bare floor, and began to shake. What good was an assassin without his sight? He would be absolutely useless both to the brotherhood and himself.  
He had lost everything, all because of a stupid mistake—

“Where are your friends now, assassin? It looks like they’ve abandoned you!” The same Templar spoke up.

“What good’s an assassin without his eyes, hmm?” Another added, laughing none too subtly amongst his cohorts.

Arno continued to lay there at their feet and ignore mocking comments and laughs, but he could not. It would be all too easy to believe they were right.  
He simply curled in on himself, his still sore body protesting even now, but he could do nothing about it.  
Nothing, but hope that his three companions might still pity him enough to save him.

Morning came all too quickly. Or night. Arno’s vision was still dark, and his outlook had remained so as well. He was still on the floor, with only the distant voices of his enemies and his self-defeating thoughts to keep him company. He groaned, and shifted slightly, trying to right himself. But with no other way to gather his surroundings, he turned and bumped right into a table- he guessed- beside him.

Unfortunately, the Templar’s voices did not stay distant. Surely they heard him wake and hit the table beside him, and had no intention of sparing him any torment.

Arno heard the footsteps approach him, but his attempt at a lunge failed short. He missed the Templar by a good two feet, and fell flat.

The show of aggression only proved to be entertainment for the Templars, and pulled another laugh from them. Unluckily for Arno, it did not seem to earn him any respite.

The first blow that came was another kick to his side, followed by another. They pulled him up and a heavy fist hit him square in the gut, and once more the air left his lungs before he could even react.  
He doubled over and could do little to resist their punishment- with his hands tied and no way to see.

Again they taunted him about being abandoned. The worst part was he was now believing them. He had no idea where he was, so how would his former companions?  
The thought eventually left his mind, too busy trying to block the pain from being beaten.  
This went on for another few minutes, until Arno was sure he could taste blood in his mouth. He spat it out, hoping it would at least hit one of the Templar’s boots. A angry curse and a final swift kick to the side of his body told him he’d found his target, the only hint of satisfaction he’d amounted in nearly two days.

The third night had his demeanor completely changed. Another few rounds of beatings had him feeling broken and utterly hopeless.  
Arno had resigned himself to his fate- surely he would die here at the hands of the Templars. It was pathetic, he knew it just as well as they did.

As they approached him a final time, Arno made no move to resist. His entire body hurt, and he was done trying to fight back.

“Ah, looks like our friend here has lost his spirit.” The Templar whose voice had become all too familiar to Arno mocked him once more, and nudged the prone assassin with his foot.

Arno simply closed his eyes. It wasn’t as if they worked, anyways.  
He attempted to fall asleep once more, but expected another beating before he was allowed to sleep again.

He tensed as he heard sudden shuffling, but became confused as to why none of the footsteps came towards him.  
An attempted shout was cut short, and was soon followed by several heavy thuds. Arno picked his head up, though in his weakened state it was not by very much.  
The subtle yet distinct smell of blood reached his noise, and he shifted more, all before finally learning what was going on.

“Arno.” Abélard’s voice seemed little more than a distant memory, but it was all too sweet to his ears. He felt the axe-wielding assassin’s large hands lift him up, but a pained gasp escaped him as his bruised body was forced to move. Abélard could tell something was off. “What did they do to you?”

The young assassin did everything he could to fight the tears welling in his eyes. The last three days had been hell for him, and suddenly the other three were here. Or at least, he assumed they all were. Despite his best efforts a sob escaped him, and he trembled, the weight of everything crashing upon him once more.

“I-” Arno started, hesitating to admit his own condition in front of them.

Another pair of footsteps approached- Arluin by the sounds of them. He always had walked the most quiet out of the four of them. A subtle swoosh of air in front of his face had the green coated assassin revealed what Arno could not.

“He has been blinded.” Arluin spoke with a solemn tone that befit the situation, earning a concerned response from the other two.

“Are you sure—” Albain- always the optimist- did not want to believe such a fate had befallen Arno.

“Arluin is right. I was caught in an explosion. I have not seen anything for three days.” Arno could not help the shakey tone of his voice as he confirmed the green coated assassin’s assumption.

“I would have torn them limb from limb—” Abélard’s voice dropped into a low, malicious growl.

“Please. I just want to leave here.” Arno stopped the other man, still not able to get himself up.

The others carried Arno out, as gently but swiftly as they could. A doctor was their first priority, but the youngest assassin insisted they simply go home. He had clearly lost hope he’d ever see again, and the last thing he wanted was a doctor’s tools anywhere near his eyes.

Once home, Arluin had taken a closer look at the boy’s eyes, without his knowledge, and saw no apparent damage- the only positive thing about the boy’s current situation so far. There seemed to be no debris in them either, which prompted him to tie a long strip of bandages over Arno’s eyes and around the back of his head.

It was not much comfort to Arno, but he allowed the older assassin to do at he pleased.

“You have not spoken more than a word or two since we rescued you…” Albain started again, softly this time. “Abélard is worried…”

Arno stayed quiet, and buried his head into a nearby pile of pillows.

“…We will figure this out, Arno.” Albain sighed, and resigned himself to let the boy rest for now.

The next day had Abélard gently waking Arno. The young man woke with a start, a few short, nearly panicked breaths all too obvious.

“You need to sit up and eat something..” He offered the younger man a simple bowl of broth.

“Why? I am useless now anyways.” Arno replied, bitter after the whole event.

“You are not. Do not say that.” The axe bearing assassin frowned, moving to touch Arno’s arm.

Arno flinched away, and did not seem convinced. As far as he was concerned, a sightless assassin was no assassin at all.  
“Easy for you to say.” He snapped back, and went quiet again.

“We did not sleep until we found you.” Abélard replied with the only thing he could think of, trying to change the subject. “Until you are dead, you are still an assassin. We do not let our limitations define us.” He rambled on, hoping he could restore a little hope to the younger man’s mind.

Again, no answer from Arno, and instead the boy fell asleep.

The next morning had him more stiff than sore, but a dull pain still ached all over his bruised body. It was not long before Arno noticed something, and froze.  
Light. Light filtered in through his bandages. It was blurry, and not as distinct as he wanted it to be, but it was light all the same.  
Frantically, he unwound the bandages around head and was greeted by a field of white, instead of dark. The light slowly faded, though not completely, into distinguishable shapes.  
Arno dropped his head and quickly wiped away a single tear, overcome with emotion- most of which was relief.

“And we never give up hope.” Abélard stood in the doorway, a smile growing on his face. “Welcome back.”


	4. Wound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wound: Arno is a novice, training under the three older assassins. He isolates himself from the others because he doesn't want to be a burden to them. They worry about him and show their love and concern for Arno when they discover that Arno was trying to hide a severe wound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Axeman (Abélard), Greencoat (Arluin), Icecream (Albain)

It had been a rough week for Arno. A secret meeting with Elise had left him questioning his own motives, and it was weighing heavily on his mind. So much so that he’d lost sleep over it.  
Despite all this, he’d hidden his troubles well from the other three assassins. They had simply went on with their business, taking turns training him with whatever they felt he needed improvement in. Any tiredness they saw in him they simply attributed to all the physical activity.

Little did any of them know, this next mission would push Arno to his limits.  
The four of them had set out at dusk, planning to use the cover of night to mask their approach.  
Their plan had gone accordingly, until an extra group of guards had them splitting up and separating from each other.

The three older assassins fought off the guards with little trouble. Between the enemies in front of them and the smoke bomb Arno had thrown down in an attempt to slow his attackers, however, they failed to see one of the guards land a hit on the young man.

Arno bit back a cry as the guard’s blade cut deep into his flesh, just above his hip. The flare of pain temporarily pushed all fatigue from his mind, and he used the small burst of renewed energy- a last ditch effort- to finish his enemy off. A sword to the guard’s chest, and an upwards thrust of the hidden blade into his throat did the trick.  
The guard fell with a heavy thud, gurgling and choking on his own blood for only a moment or two before death claimed him.

Arno staggered, a hand pressed to his side. The guard’s sword had not pierced the fabric of his coat, making the wound relatively easy to hide. The young assassin was grateful for this, not wanting the others to know. Whether it was not to be a burden, or because he did not want them to know he’d nearly failed such a routine mission, he kept quiet about the wound. Arno pulled a medicinal vial out of a pouch at his belt and poured the concoction onto the open wound, having to bite down on the leather of his glove to muffle a groan of pain.  
The powder felt like fire eating away at his wound, but it did well to stop the bleeding- for now at least.

His heavy, shaking breaths were the only response to the assassins calling for him to rejoin them.

“Are you injured?” The white coated assassin called out, just as the smoke dissipated.

“No.” Arno replied- a lie. He pulled his coat closed at the front to hide his wound, and returned to the other three, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his gloved hand.  
It was hardest for him to hide his limp, and not wince in pain with each step he took, but he managed. The sun having already set was mostly to thank for that.

They finished their mission not long after, and returned to their hideout.  
Arno was the first to retire to his small room, after admitting only that he needed to catch up on sleep. He locked the door to his room, and settled in for the night, a roll of fresh gauze wrapped tightly around his middle.

Unfortunately, his basic knowledge of wound care had not been enough. By morning he was burning up, and caught in the throes of a fever.

The other assassins had simply assumed the boy had needed rest, and had let him go until later that day. It was not the lack of noise that prompted their gathering at his door, but the muffled moans of someone obviously in pain that had the axe wielding assassin taking more drastic action.

Abélard slammed himself against the door, and it gave way easily to his sturdy frame.

It was what the three of them saw inside that had them truly worried.

Arno was curled up tight on the bed, his blue coat strewn messily across the edge of it. They saw the bloodied wad of gauze at his side, and immediately rushed to him.  
It was easy to surmise that the boy had lied about being injured last night, given his pathetic condition and the way he’d secluded himself away.

“Stupid boy..” Arluin huffed, and leaned in to expect youngest assassin’s wound. It was infected, the wound itself raw and the edges of the cut inflamed.  
“Start boiling some water.” The green coated assassin turned to Albain first.  
“I’ll need rags and a bottle of drink as well. Any kind.” He muttered to Abélard, referring to alcohol he could use to disinfect the wound.

It was another hour or two- no one was readily keeping the time- before they could all rest a little easier. 

The impromptu surgery had been anything but comfortable for Arno, but maybe now the boy would learn his lesson about keeping wounds hidden.

He woke the next day to a very annoyed looking Abélard, and rightly so.

“Next time you lie about not getting a whole in your side, I’ll give you one.” He frowned, looking upset at the young man.

“I did not want to admit I had failed the mission…” Arno replied, groggily. He did not let his gaze meet the other assassin’s just yet.

“Getting wounded on a mission does not equate to failure. Not trusting us does.” The axe wielder spoke honestly, his tone lower now. It looked like they had more to teach the boy than they thought.

Arno’s guilt was clear as the expression on his face. His intention had never been to worry them so.  
“…I am sorry, Abélard. Perhaps we could start over?” Arno’s hand found the older assassin’s, and he held it gently.

“Fine, but do not expect me to go easy on you just because you are crippled.” Abélard could not help the smirk that played across his lips.

“I am no cripple just yet.” Arno shot back almost playfully, ignoring the dull ache in his side.


	5. Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the four learned to trust in each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abélard (Axeman), Albain (Icecream), and Arluin (Greencoat)

When they had first met, the four thought very little of each other. Arno had not even become a full fledged assassin yet, and they had been forced into this group together merely out of necessity. Tensions rose as they argued, for they were quick to find and point out each others faults. The body language between them showed only defiance, or annoyance at each others presence.  
Albain, being the most level headed of the group, had tried to calm the others down whenever things got out of hand, but it was not a surprise to any of them when threats were issued between the four. There had even been a couple of physical altercations, no doubt leaving to bruised faces and egos when they were reprimanded for acting so childishly.

One would assume it would have taken a long time for that distrust to fade. The four had been on the brink of being separated and moved to other teams, and would have been glad for it. Fate, however, had different ideas.

What had started out as a routine reconnaissance mission eventually turned to much more. The four had only expected to find Templar couriers, not a higher ranking one and his entourage of guards.  
No doubt this revelation had been a surprise, but they were soon forced to fight for their lives.

Though they had begun to hone their fighting styles, the four were still relatively inexperienced. They were going to have to trust each other if they were to make it out alive. The very clear prospect of being outnumbered and nearly outmatched had changed something within all of them. Even if it was only the thought of their own survival, it was obvious they would have to put aside their differences and fight- finally- as a team should.

When it was all over, the assassins had come out victorious but not unscathed. Arno had been wounded severely, leading to the first of many serious injuries he would receive in his time as an assassin.

Abélard had faired a little better, with only a slash to the leg that- although it would require stitches- was relatively minor.

Albain had been nearly run through while protecting Arluin, something the green coated assassin could not comprehend for a long time after that- no matter how many times Albain tried to explain why. They had all been on their own, in one way or another, for so long. Selfless acts like this, especially after having disliked each other, were an unbelievable concept to Arluin. And yet, Albain had continued to risk injury time and time again. It was not too long before he found himself looking out for the older assassin as well.

After that first battle, they had found themselves in pain and exhausted, but somehow a weight had been lifted off their shoulders at the same time. Abélard still argued it was the blood loss talking, but deep down the four of them knew better. They were brought together for a reason, and from that day on they had vowed to watch over each other for as long as they were capable.

“It seems so long ago, now…” Arno was the first to speak, his tone low and warm as he paused to sip at his wine. He was nestled back against Abélard’s larger frame, the both of them illuminated by the glow from the fireplace. “…that day we finally started working together.” He smiled fondly at the others, seeing first had just how far they had come.

Albain and Arluin nodded in turn, curled up against each other as well. The two had kept their relationship secret- or so they had thought- for a while now. Arno and Abélard had figured it would happen all along, if not already, but had obliged the other two by not mentioning it earlier.  
“I was beginning to think we would end up dead, before we trusted each other.” Albain spoke up now, resting his head against Arluin’s shoulder.

“We almost did.” Abélard replied, solemnly. How foolish they had been, not more than two years ago. Sure, they all had legitimate reasons not to trust each other, but to let it go so far as almost dying because of it was just as absurd as it sounded. Not only had they grown to trust each other, they were more than just a team now. The axe wielding assassin would be the first to praise Arno on how far he had progressed. The boy would always be impatient, but his training had lessened that by a great amount.

"We would have made it out of there, one way or another. How many times have we paid for experience with another scar?” Arluin spoke again.

“It is a dangerous life we lead, that is true. But I would not choose to live it with anyone else.” Albain chimed in, smiling now as well. For all the negative situations they dealt with, they could always count on each other, and from that knowledge they pulled a strength and a sense of belonging that nothing else could replace.

To this, the four raised their wine glasses, Abélard sharing Arno’s and Albain, Arluin’s. They drank not to the assassin order, or even to the battles they had won. They drank only to each other, for in victory or loss, all that they asked of each other was trust.


	6. Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Injured Arno, Axeman to the rescue?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abélard (Axeman), Arluin (Greencoat), Albain (Icecream

The battlefield was chaotic at best, soldiers and rebels shouting back and forth. All orders to desist had been useless. The noise now consisted of war cries, musket fire, and the sounds of the injured or dying.  
Arno had steeled himself. There was no possible way to save every rebel.  
The faster they took down the leading captain of the soldiers, however, the more lives they were likely to save.  
And so, he and the others were fighting their way to the man. Personally, Arno found him pathetic. Yes the captain was older, but he was hidden behind solid doors with his own personal guard, leaving his men on their own. Perhaps he thought himself untouchable, but Arno and the other three would soon prove the captain oh so very wrong.

“They fight like devils— all four of them-!” A single, terrified soldier choked on his own words, as he was let in. He stumbled towards the captain before falling at his feet, a phantom blade lodged deep in his back.

The captain’s eyes widened and he sent his men to the door. Before they were even able to secure it, the doors slowly opened and a smoke bomb came rolling in, filling the area with a thick haze.

The assassins moved in like ghosts, making no noticeable sounds until they drew their weapons once more.  
The four drew closer, quickly dispatching the captain’s guard and then surrounding the man in question.  
The captain was now backed up against the wall, with nowhere to run. Arno took a step forward to finish him off, when there was a rush of footsteps outside. Heavy booted, and unlikely to be peasants.

Albain and Arluin turned to engage the would be attackers, their pistols pointed at the open doorway. The line of soldiers that came to occupy it with readied muskets showed no hesitation to engage them, and the assassins were forced to improvise.

Abélard was the first to throw himself out of harm’s way, pushing Albain down as well. Arluin fired at the soldier who had aimed at him, effectively stopping the biggest threat to himself.  
Arno, however, was not so lucky. His attempt to dodge the burst of musket fire was unsuccessful, and one of the shots found his shoulder.  
The pain was instant and the force of the impact sent him reeling, but he kept on his feet. His right arm felt heavier and refused to work right, blood already running down his sleeve. With a last great effort he turned and buried his sword deep into the captain’s chest.  
Death came quickly for the man, who took a final wheezing, wet cough before he slid to the ground.

With the deed done, Arno staggered and collapsed against the nearest piece of furniture- a heavy wooden desk.

“Arno!” Abélard rushed to the younger assassin, making sure the boy was still conscious before going after the soldiers who had fired at them. The swings of his axe were even more furious and wild than before. Every soldier in his path was soon missing a limb or fatally maimed. None of them would survive this, and soon the room had gone quiet again, save for the pained gasps from Arno.

“The musket ball- it’s still-” He bit back a pained moan, knowing they would have to remove the metal before the wound became infected.

“Shh, relax.” Abélard urged the younger man to remain calm, and moved to gently pick him up.

Arluin and Albain cleared the way, their only concern now being Arno’s well being. The green coated assassin was the first to spot a clinic, and they rushed Arno there.

“See to him, or you’ll be a bloody mess too.” Abélard demanded their companion be treated instantly, and the three other people inside the room showed no objection to waiting after they saw the bloodied axe.

“What our brutish friend here meant to say is that our friend is in dire need of help. Soon. We would like to avoid infection.” Albain assured the doctor there would be no violence, but urgency was indeed of great importance.

"Bring him in.” The doctor said, with a sigh, and ushered them into a back room where the surgeries were performed.

As soon as Abélard set him down, the doctor encouraged him and the other two to leave, of which all of them seemed reluctant to do.

“This is not the first musket ball I have removed. But I need quiet and you three not pacing around.” The doctor frowned, and pointed them out the door.

Arluin pulled the other two back, leaving the doctor to his business. Abélard was still reluctant to move, but eventually did so. He could do nothing but listen and worry as he heard more pained grunts and groans from behind the closed door.

Almost half an hour later, the doctor emerged from the room once more, wiping the blood from his hands.  
“Your friend is weakened from the bloodloss, but with some care and considerable rest, he should be fine. The wound has been stitched, so I recommend limited movement.” He reported, cleaning his hands more thoroughly before moving to the next patient.

Arluin left a considerable amount of coin on the doctor’s desk as Abélard gathered Arno up, and they left without another word.  
-  
It was nearly a full day before Arno woke, and he soon regretted the fact he had done so at all. The pain in his shoulder flared up again, though it was considerably more bearable than he remembered.

Abélard was the first to find him awake, relief immediately apparent on his face.

“I-” Arno winced. “-am glad the rest of you got out fine.” His voice was low, but there was relief in it as well. He did not see Albain and Arluin, but he was the only one laying around with a bandaged up shoulder.

“Yes, but I would prefer that we all got out unharmed, next time.” The older assassin replied, giving Arno a look.

"Not my best moment, I will agree…” He trailed off, closing his eyes against the dull but constant ache in his shoulder. “How long was I out?” He asked flatly.

“Nearly a day. We brought you back earlier this morning and you have been asleep since.” Abélard replied, taking a seat on the chair he’d pulled up beside where Arno lay.

“I think I will take another.” The young man admitted, lifting his uninjured arm just enough to reach for Abélard’s hand.

Abélard held it carefully, running his calloused thumb over Arno’s knuckles. “And I will be right here when you wake.” He assured the younger assassin, a smile appearing on his face.


	7. Discipline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Arno learns to show a little respect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Nsfw* Arno x Abélard (Axeman)

“It’s about time I teach you a lesson, boy. Keep moving around like that and you are going to get yourself killed.” Abélard started, pushing back Arno’s blade with the hilt of his axe.

“Strange words, coming from an old man with an oversized hatchet.” Arno countered, that all too familiar smirk returning, even as he strained to keep his ground.  
With his free hand he reached up and wiped the sweat from his brow, before stepping to the side and diverting Abélard’s momentum away from his center.

The older assassin had observed Arno’s movements often enough to expect this, and swiveled immediately, swinging his axe towards the younger man.

Arno ducked under the swing and lunged forward, tucking his shoulder in and tackling Abélard to the ground.  
For a moment he thought himself victorious, letting his guard down as he stared down at Abélard underneath him. “I win.” His grin had not yet faded, but the look of triumph that had been plastered on his face was soon wiped away.

Abélard had no trouble throwing the boy off, however, his larger frame now hovering over Arno’s.  
“It’s not over until I say so.” He patted Arno’s chest, and with his own smirk, finally stood as the victor.

“You are not the only one making rules.” Arno challenged him again, picking himself up off the dusty ground. He took a moment to pat his coat off, and followed close behind Abélard.

“If you think so strongly, you can challenge me again tomorrow. The winner calls the shots for the next week.” Abélard said, glancing back to Arno. The young man was quick, and strong, but until he learned to temper his emotions and control his impulses, he would always make costly mistakes. He was still too reckless.

“I do not want to wait until tomorrow.” Arno protested, quickly grabbing Abélard’s arm to stop him.

The older assassin narrowed his eyes and stared at the younger man, giving a wordless warning.  
“…Impatient as always.” Abélard replied, but did not pull away from him entirely. Instead, he shuffled them back inside their room and closed the door behind them.

“What are you doing-“ A brief look of confusion came over Arno’s features as he was pushed back inside.

“I’m about to teach you another lesson.” Abélard answered, rummaging through a satchel beside the door and pulling out a length of rope. He glanced back up at Arno, a subtle grin showing even in the dim light inside.

Arno was no stranger to things getting rough, but it at least had been on a fairly even playing field.  
Now, however, it seemed Abélard intended to tie him down. Or up. Or perhaps even to something. The younger assassin could not be entirely sure what the other man’s plans were, but stood his ground none the less.

“I will not force you into anything. If you do not want this, go ahead and leave right now.” Abélard allowed him, stepping aside and clearing a pathway to the door. He knew the boy too well, however, and just as he had guessed Arno did not retreat.

“A little rope is not going to frighten me off.” Arno frowned, taking a defiant step towards Abélard.

Things escalated quickly from there, and it was not long before Arno was nearly begging for attention. His coat and shirt were opened and pushed off his shoulders, exposing his broad chest. His hood had been pushed back as well, only his dark hair framing his face now. Part of him did not like feeling so vulnerable, with his arms tied behind his back. The rest of him, however, could not deny that Abélard’s taking command so explicitly had him painfully aroused.

The older assassin sat on Arno’s lap, staring down at him with a much more noticeable grin. It was an odd lesson in humility, perhaps, but he was determined to make the younger man beg.

“N-nngh…” A heavy moan was pulled from Arno as he shifted underneath Abélard’s weight, trying his best to receive stimulation and finish himself off.

“Hmm?” Abélard leaned over him a bit more. “What was that?” He slid his hands slowly down Arno’s exposed chest, hoping the boy would finally give in.

“Please.” Arno whispered halfheartedly. His cheeks were flushed and sweaty now, and he turned his gaze away.

“I did not hear you.” Abélard’s response came quickly. “You are going to have to speak up.”

“Please.” Arno’s request was perfectly audible, and he shuddered as Abélard’s touch moved lower.

The older assassin had half a mind to keep the boy begging, but he’d gotten what he wanted, and therefore gave in. Wrapping his hand around Arno’s arousal, he began pumping up and down. His movements were slow at first, but assisted by the younger assassin’s hips rising to meet his hand.

Arno groaned and gasped lewdly, relieved to finally have the contact he’d needed. He continued like that for a while, not giving any mind to the noises he was making. It was not long, however, before he neared release, and his breathing grew ragged and desperate.

Abélard had no trouble discerning how close Arno was to climax, and sped up his own movements, which pushed the younger man over the edge.  
Any control that Arno had left was lost as he came, groaning loudly and cursing at no one in particular. He gasped for air and his still booted toes curled as his whole body went tense. A final shuddering breath signaled the fading burst of pleasure, and he went limp against the pillows beneath him.

Abélard reached underneath Arno and finally untied him, as if to prove the point he’d been in absolute control the whole time.  
“Don’t challenge me again.” He said with a smile, patted Arno’s chest, and left the boy to clean himself up.


	8. Immortality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arno comes in contact with a powerful Piece of Eden, which grants him immortality. But such a thing is not always a gift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abélard (Axeman), Albain (Icecream), Arluin (Greencoat)

Arno remembered the event like it was yesterday. He and the others had stormed a fort, fighting their way through a small army of Templars, all in one final showdown. It had been a bloody battle, with he and his brothers in arms taking down a whole slew of them before they began to tire. They knew there was no holding out forever, not being as outnumbered as they were.  
Abélard, Albain, and Arluin pushed ahead anyways, throwing down smoke bombs not only as a cover for themselves, but allowing Arno to sneak away from the main battle. He needed to reach the room where the Templars were guarding the Piece of Eden before his brothers in arms were struck down. It would take all his skill to reach the room, he knew that much. The men outside would likely be pushovers compared to the ones guarding the artifact.  
Arno’s stealth became useless in this situation, and though he would have liked to take his time to create a couple of strategies, but the others still fighting outside likely could not afford it. So, he steeled himself, and used his eagle vision to get himself closer to his target.

The trail led him around a couple of corners, down a long corridor, and deeper into the fort. He passed through a heavy wooden door, which was left open as if the three men inside were waiting for him.  
This suspicion was confirmed as soon as Arno took a single cautious step forward, and was nearly beheaded by a heavy axe that swung towards him from the side.  
The blade came so close as to tear a wide cut in the side of his hood. A stinging sensation followed by a warm trickle of blood down the side of his head barely even registered, as Arno rolled to the side and out of the enemy’s range. The reprieve was all too brief, as a second Templar came at him, this one wielding a sword.  
Arno activated his hidden blade just in time to block the oncoming slash, risking a cut on his hand to hold the aggressor’s sword just long enough to regain his footing. He gave one sharp tug, pulling the Templar’s sword forward and past himself, leaving the dark clothed man open for attack.  
Just as he expected to gain the upper hand, a third Templar joined the fray.

He was jerked backwards by another pair of hands, and thrown against the nearby wall. It took everything he had to override his body’s want to regain the breath that had just been knocked out of him, and he scrambled towards the only clear corner of the room. Arno knew he needed to even the playing field before anyone else showed up. It was now that he was most grateful that he’d borrowed a few smokebombs from Arluin.  
Throwing one down, it near instantly filled the room with a thick grey smoke, and so he made his move. The loss of visuals only allowed him a moment, however, as the three men quickly found eachother through sound. Still, with use of his eagle vision and Phantom Blade, he shot one of the Templars in the neck. The second he went down, Arno rushed forward, hidden blade extended, and drove it deep into another Templar’s ribcage, using the man’s body as a meat shield, though it did little to stop the axe that swung at him again. It nearly cleaved the second dying Templar in half, and Arno shoved his bloody remains away to face the axe wielding man.  
The smoke had now started to dissipate, and the two faced each other down. Blood still dripped freely from the side of his head, but there was no time to worry about it now. His concentration was wholly on the last Templar, who finally spoke.

“You have no idea what you are getting into, boy. That treasure-” The Templar’s warning was cut short.

“Is not for you.” Arno finished for him, a smirk appearing on his face. Now that it was just between him and the axe wielding Templar, he knew he had this fight in the bag. He’d trained long enough with Abélard to know how to counter such a heavy weapon. Avoid the first swing and the man’s vulnerable side would be exposed. He simply had to get his timing right.

The Templar did not bother with any other explanation, knowing the assassin would not listen anyways. The artifact they had guarded held more power than any man made object, and was not meant for assassins either. But that did not matter now, for the fight was nearly over.

Arno rushed at the man, leaning back to slide just under the swing of the axe as he engaged the final Templar. He drove his hidden blade into the man’s leg and slashed through the outer muscle, disabling the man and knocking him off balance in one movement. A last, deliberate strike to the back of the now kneeling Templar finished him off. Arno’s hidden blade had sliced deep into the back of the man’s neck, severing the spinal cord.

The Templar’s lifeless body fell to the ground with the other two, and Arno stood victorious. Only now did he wipe the wide stream of blood from the side of his face, before turning to the metal door that hid the object he had come for. Wasting no time, he opened it, the bottom of the door scraping the stone ground underneath. A warm glow emanated from the center of the room, but there were no torches. It was simply the artifact, nothing of which Arno had ever seen the likes of before. There was no mistaking, the orb held some mysterious power, and he felt himself drawn to it. The longer he stared, the more it captivated him, and it was only the sudden remembrance for a need of urgency that snapped him out of the trance.

Arno hesitated only a moment before grabbing the golden orb from it’s pedestal, and as soon as he did, a searingly bright light enveloped him. He gasped, but did not drop the piece of Eden, even as it sent a noticeable jolt up his arm and through the rest of his body. Arno shook his head, attempting to regain his sight and senses as the light faded, and when it did he shoved the orb into a thick leather pouch he’d brought specifically for the piece.

Part of him wanted to stop and attempt to figure out what had just happened to him, but despite the strange tingling in his arm that was only now starting to fade, Arno knew he needed to get back outside.

When he did, the chaos had seemed to die down. His stomach churned with worry for the others, but as he scanned the battlefield, relief found him. Abélard, Arluin, and Albain were miraculously still standing. Exhausted, bloodied, and surrounded by enemies, but still alive.

Without a second thought, Arno removed the orb from the pouch, somehow knowing it would help. It seemed the artifact had some sort of awareness, for he felt prompted to hold it up. When he did, it pulsed and strange lines of light emerged, targeting only the remaining enemies. Energy was drained from his own body as a catalyst for the piece’s own power, which soon had the remaining soldiers falling to their knees and clutching their heads. Soon they were laying prone, and apparently dead or dying. Arno marveled at the orb’s power as much as he was wary of it. It was far more powerful than he had expected, and he was only glad he’d taken it from the Templars. Who knew what they would have used it for.

The other three assassins stood and stared in disbelief as their enemies fell around them, killed by a nearly invisible force.  
“Arno..” Abélard wheezed, turning to see the younger assassin rushing down from the fort to join them.

They had been victorious, but at a price. Arno would not realize what that was until much later, and he now regretted ever touching the Apple of Eden in the first place.  
The previous memory faded, for now, and he attempted to clear his mind as he watched the sunset from his perch near the top of the Notre Dame. The ringing of the bells had become his only remaining companion. His chest tightened as he looked beside him, missing the silhouettes of Albain and Arluin, but of Abélard the most. The three of them were dead. They’d been gone for almost fifty years. Arno had remained with them through countless battles and victories. Through periods of grieving and celebrations alike. But he had also watched the three of them grow old and pass away, while he had barely aged a day since his first encounter with the Apple. He’d lost count the number of times he’d cursed the orb, and wished he had died peacefully alongside his brothers in arms. There were even times he’d tried to end everything himself, but every injury he sustained, intentional or otherwise, healed quickly and on it’s own accord.

Arno became a legend in his own sort, but where he had embraced the title when the others were still around, he now hated it. What good was his immortality and title of protector when he had lost everything he had loved?  
Even worse, he had forced himself to stop forming emotional bonds. Any pleasure he allowed himself to feel was brief, and trivial. There was not a day that went by he did not miss Abélard, and the man’s strong arms around him.  
It continued that way for countless years afterwards.  
He knew the man would not want to be the cause of so much grief and sadness, but it was every so often Arno’s mind just lingered on the thoughts. Even through training other assassins, and fighting in battles that were not truly his. He’d found some escape in fading into most people’s distant memories, taking on new names as he traveled the world. He spent his time chasing after rumors of other pieces of Eden, but most often they turned up blank.

The world changed steadily around him. New leaders, new conflicts, new wars. Inventors, phenomena, advances in science. Tides always shifted back and forth between the Assassins and Templars, but Arno had stopped intervening decades ago. He’d lost the will to. Even so, he seemed to be pulled back to the conflict all the same. It was not until the fighting between the two factions brought him back to Paris that he finally saw an end.

The encounter with a Templar Grandmaster, one Arno was quick to make short work of, put the Piece of Eden - the apple that had cursed him so many years ago- was back in his hand. Its weight felt immense in his hand, and he had grown so tired of all of this…  
How ironic, that the gentle glow and pulse of golden light seemed an attempt to soothe him. He sighed, and closed his eyes, once more reliving the first time he’d found it.  
Light slowly began to envelope him once more, and Arno let his body relax in its warmth. It was a peace he had not felt in more than one hundred years.  
“You have seen much. No one before you has received this gift.” A woman’s calm voice echoed around him.

“This is no gift.” Arno replied, his shoulders slumping. “I regret ever thinking it was. I do not want this any more…” He added, quietly. He stopped wanting it several lifetimes ago.

“You wish for it to end, then?” The woman’s voice asked, almost sounding surprised. “There is still much you could do.”

“It is no longer my fight. Please, if there is any power- any good- in this piece, let it end this. That is all I ask.” Arno admitted defeat, willingly. Humans were not supposed to be immortal.

“You will cease to exist in this world, if your choice is final.” The voice tempted him.

Arno did not hesitate to make his final decision. His grip tightened on the Apple’s golden metal shell, and he accepted his fate. “It is my choice.” It was something he never thought he would regain.

A final pulse of light was his only confirmation, and whatever power the Apple had put inside him was slowly being reclaimed. Strange patterns of light played up and down his arm, and Arno grew more drowsy with each passing second. As the unnatural light dimmed in his failing vision, he glimpsed a shadow to the side of him. One, and all too familiar. Arno turned, and was greeted by the only man who had ever truly held his heart.

“Took you long enough.” Abélard said, with a matter of factness that was only and unmistakably his. “Let’s go. The others are waiting.”

And Arno followed.


	9. Guilty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: The sinner one got me thinking maybe arno breaks the rule of killing no innocents and kills one for whatever reason (maybe cause the innocent was calling him name idk) and axe guy has to have a "talk" (argument maybe?) with arno and then arno acts all sweet and stuff trying to make the axe guy just shrug off the incident or something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arno / Axe man (Abélard), Greencoat (Arluin), Icecream (Albain)

The four assassins had become increasingly restless as the days passed. They would hear whispers and rumors of Templar activity, but nothing solid. Any leads they followed turned out to be fruitless, and the three older assassins were convinced something more devious was being schemed. Just what that was, however, was unknown to them. They had taken turns to walk the nearby streets, or stalk from the rooftops, in an attempt to pick up any extra information that they had missed. It was Arluin and Albain’s turn to gather whatever they could, and though they had not seemed hopeful they would find anything, the two had been gone for a while now.

Arno, however, seemed to have an entirely different opinion of what was going on. “We seemed to have frightened them away. So far we have killed or brought justice to every one of them we have met.” He began, his headstrong nature getting the better of him. “We are already winning, and they are more cowardly than even I had expected-” The boy had continued, overconfidence brimming until he was interrupted by Abélard.

“It is never that easy. It is true we have threatened them, done them damage, but it is not over.” The older assassin finally spoke, meaning to bring the young man’s borderline arrogance in check.

Arno was not dismayed however, and remained overly optimistic about the subject.

Two brief knocks on the door signaled the green and white coated assassins’ return. Albain’s expression showed promise of some news, at least.  
"We heard rumor of a supposed Templar associate. I have not heard his name before, but we’ve gathered when and where he will show up.” He reported, earning a fairly satisfied look from Abélard.

“It is a start, at least. We will be awaiting his arrival. Should he talk, he may provide us with more clues.” The axe wielding assassin spoke, glancing between the other three.

“It could also be a trap. This is the first real lead we have found in nearly a week.” Arluin put his two cents in, not liking something about this whole situation.

“That may be true, but such dangers have not stopped us before.” Arno cut in, even more motivated to do something now that they had a lead.

Abélard spared the younger man a serious look, and instead turned towards the other two assassins. “I say a plan is in order. Tell us everything you learned.” He prompted, and soon they began to talk between each other.

Arno listened in just enough to get the man’s supposed description, and the defining feature. He was to wear a red and white strip of cloth around his upper left arm. That is all he needed to know. Should the man make any attempt to fight back or harm the other three, Arno would end his life.

-

It was early the next morning when the four assassins woke, and aside from taking a few minutes to insure their weapons were in perfect working order, they were soon out the door.  
They wasted no time in getting to the location, but moved with the crowds to avoid attracting unwanted attention. They took up positions that would allow them the best view of the area, which ended up being a marketplace. This was one of the last remaining ones that had been kept in control by the commoners, and therefore was bustling even at this early hour.

Albain and Arluin took to the roofs, to better scout the marketplace. Abélard and Arno stayed closer to street level, and it was not long before their quarry showed up. The youngest assassin was the first to spot him, and he took it upon himself to catch the man. Surely doing so would impress the others.

“Right on time.” Arno muttered to himself, smirking as his confidence once more got the better of him. It took a no more than a single moment to assess the threat. The man looked unassuming enough, but his clothes were fairly loose on his body, perfect for concealing weapons.  
He slid past some people and gently pushed away others, making a beeline straight to the Templar informant. The man soon caught sight of Arno, and appeared to panic slightly, before turning and running away.  
He shouted for help as he ran, prompting the assassin who was hot on his heels to assume it was indeed a trap.

The shouts did well in gathering attention, but only from the crowds of commoners, or so they appeared.  
There could very well be other Templars, and if they were dressed in peasants’ clothing they would be otherwise indistinguishable.

Arno knew he had to end this quickly, and so he charged forward, tackling the informant to the ground. The man pleaded for his life- a tactic to catch him off guard, surely- before shoving a hand inside of his vest. Arno did not give him a chance to reveal whatever the weapon was- a knife, or possibly even a pistol- and drove his hidden blade into the man’s throat.  
Red spilled from his mouth and he took a few breaths before choking on his own blood and soon bled out.

Screams from commoners as they scattered barely even registered, Arno’s own blood pounding in his ears from the rush of adrenaline and thrill of the chase.  
With the threat over, he was about to stand up when a blur of movement to his right signaled Abélard’s joining him.  
“He was about to draw a w-” Arno was interrupted, and pushed harshly aside, nearly falling over.

“A bag of coins.” Abélard had just removed the object from inside the dead man’s vest and glared at Arno. The boy’s impulsive behavior had just killed an innocent man. “He was no Templar. There is no one else here.” He growled, throwing aside the small coin purse in his frustration. This was not their way. They did not murder innocent people.

The revelation hit Arno like a blow to the gut. They had to be wrong. The man had run from him. Why had he run? He scrambled forward, looking for any hidden weapons in the dead man’s clothes, but found none.  
"I thought-”

“You thought wrong!” Abélard roared, turning to Arno and grabbing the front of the boy’s coat. “You should have thought this through!” He shook Arno, briefly, before letting him go. They needed to leave. Not everyone had left the market, some had simply been to scared to move, while others had backed away just far enough to watch the debacle from a safer distance. “Go.” He pushed Arno away from the dead man’s body once more, and back towards the direction of the inn they had stayed in the night before.

Arno’s eyes were still wide with disbelief, and an innocent man’s blood now soaked his gloves. He glanced back to Arluin who kept a stern expression, and then to Albain who looked severely disappointed in the boy. His chest tightened as an unfamiliar feeling gripped him. Fear, or nervousness, maybe a mix of both.  
He remained dead silent until they reached their room. Arluin and Albain had returned to their own, just across the hall.  
"Abélard-” Arno tried, but was shut down again.

“No. You listen to me. That man’s death is on your hands. You should have been more patient. More careful.” He sighed, aggravated, and continued. “We trained you better than this. A more stealthy approach would have solved all of this. The Creed demands we not spill the blood of an innocent. This tenet is paramount.”

Arno’s gaze fell to the floor, his shoulders slumping as he was berated, and rightfully so. Misunderstanding or not, the fault was his alone. The guilt only grew within him, and he did not like it.  
“I am sorry…” He finally responded, meekly. “I should have known better.”

The older assassin finally relented, if only momentarily. “You should have. Think on that a while.” He was about to turn and leave the room when he was stopped short by a hand on his coat. Facing the young man, Arno’s forehead came to rest against Abélard’s chest, a heavy sigh escaping the younger as well.

Abélard shook his head, but let his voice soften. “We will talk of this later. Go wash your hands.” He pushed Arno into the washroom and slowly closed the door behind him.


	10. Overworked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Icecream tries to get Greencoat to sleep, but the latter refuses him all the time because of work and Icecream end up falling asleep besides him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arluin (Greencoat) x Albain (Icecream)

It was safe to say that none of the four liked doing the occasional piles of paperwork they had to sift through. Arno and Abélard had showed very early on that they did not have the patience for such things, so the work usually fell to Arluin and Albain.  
The green coated assassin did not seem to mind what the others found as extremely dull. Yes, fighting the Templars physically was a major part of their ongoing war, but it was certainly not the only part. Intercepting letters and other important documents was just as necessary. There was that, and also managing correspondence between the members of their own faction. Keeping record of which assassins were sent where, and why, was extremely important as well.  
And so, if they were not out amongst the people or on other missions, Arluin and Albain were inside, poring over numerous pieces of paper.  
Arluin had taken the initiative and acted surprisingly responsible over the current batch of work, as if to distract himself from something.

Albain did not question the younger man, however, even when he was denied the chance to assist in looking through a fairly large stack of papers.  
And so, he distracted himself with other tasks around their hideout. Cleaning up where he could, reading a book, and even cooking a meal for the two of them was how he passed the time. Arluin absent mindedly thanked him for the food, but did little more than pick at it every so often, still fixated on the documents in front of him.  
The white coated assassin sighed and pulled up a chair beside Arluin.  
“You should take a break.” He leaned slightly against the younger man and glanced down at the paper in Arluin’s hands. It appeared to be a carefully written letter, but Albain could not bring himself to care much at this point.

"I do not need one. There is plenty still here to do.” He paid little attention to Albain and continued reading.

“These papers are not going anywhere. You are allowed to see to yourself as well, you know.” Albain tried to pull the younger assassin’s attention from the parchment once more, this time by wrapping his arms around Arluin’s waist.

“No, but they must still be seen to. Other people’s lives depend on some of these.” He replied simply.

“That is true, but this is not your burden alone to bear. At least let me help?” Albain was truly bored now, and hoped Arluin would give him the chance to help.

“I can handle it.” Arluin made a few marks on the letter, before adding notes in the margin.

“I am sure you can, but things would go faster if you let me take some of it..” Albain trailed off, finally giving up when he got no real response.  
Instead, he gave up, sighing audibly once more before slumping against the younger man.

It was another few hours as Arluin steadily made his way through the piles of paper, diligently looking over each one as if not to miss even the smallest detail. There really was no stopping him once he committed himself to a task, this being the prime example.

The older man was now barely able to keep his eyes open, and knew he would not be able to stay up much longer. A glance out the window told him it was very late- the sky outside was completely dark.  
“Come now, it is too late for this…” He mumbled tiredly, and failed to hold back a yawn.

“I’m almost finished.” Arluin answered, his tone had lightened as the time had passed. He was indeed tired as well, but did not show it like Albain did. “You should get some rest. Go to bed. I will join you soon.” He drabbled on, chewing on his lower lip as he picked up another paper.

“No. If I leave you will not sleep at all.” Albain seemed set on this, and kept his watch by the younger assassin’s side. Soon enough, however, he was the one to fall asleep. He drifted off slowly, leaning more and more against Arluin, who noticed and shifted slightly, to keep Albain from falling over as he finished his work.

“Stubborn old man.” Arluin whispered, shaking his head as he glanced at the other assassin. It was not much longer that he finally finished his work, and moved carefully to get Albain to bed. He half carried, half dragged the other man, but managed to do so without fully waking him.  
He pulled Albain’s boots off, but otherwise left the man’s clothes on, knowing it would wake him if he attempted to get his coat off.  
Soon enough he curled up beside the older assassin, wrapping an arm around him lightly before drifting off as well.


	11. Tender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt:   
> Tender. GreenTeaIceCream. Albain still believes in the "good people" and that brings him to many problems

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Albain (Icecream) / Arluin (Greencoat)

Albain had expected that becoming an assassin would change everything.  
Though he was mostly right, there were some things that just did not change.  
He and the others had done their best to make positive changes around the city. It seemed, however, every time a corrupt official, guard captain, or infinitely greedy nobleman was torn down, a new one stepped into place.

Some of them had been Templars, which he and the other three were glad to be rid of, but others just benefited from the relative chaos.

Commoners turned rebels still occupied streets, squares, and important buildings alike. They’d built up barriers with whatever they could find- everything from old carts to stolen furniture.  
These men and women alike showed great courage, but even with their greater numbers, they suffered many losses. They were not soldiers, after all.  
Death had become rampant, but at this point it did little to discourage the fighting.

Albain and the others intervened when and where they could, but even with their skills, there was only four of them. In the end, there was only so much they could do. People- innocent ones at that- were going to die.

This very thought had worn at Albain, and though he knew it was unrealistic to expect everyone would survive, it made him uneasy and restless.  
He found himself pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace, in one room of a small house they had holed up in for the night.

He could hear the murmuring of the others’ voices earlier, but had since tuned it out. He was too lost in his own thoughts to even notice Arluin’s entrance into the room. It was not until the green coated assassin’s hand came to gently rest on Albain’s shoulder that he realized he was not alone.  
The sudden contact nearly made him jump, and he was pulled from his thoughts by Arluin’s words.

“It is late. You should rest.” In an uncommonly open show of affection, he drew Albain closer, and wrapped his arms low around his waist. With his chest against Albain’s back, Arluin rested his chin on his shoulder.

“You need not worry about me.” Albain replied, not immediately reciprocating the touch.

“Who said I was worried?” Arluin questioned, but kept his arms around the other man. In truth he was, however. Albain had always been the one to look after them. Now it seemed to be the other way around. He had not seen Albain eat anything yet today, either.

“Yet here you stand…” Albain finally rested a hand over one of Arluin’s, his gloved fingers tracing random lines over the green coated assassin’s.

“You have said very little today. I am justified in my concern.” Arluin admitted, shifting slightly against the other man.

“…We should be out there. We have not done enough. Innocent people are still dying.” Albain spoke in fragments, as if his thoughts had caught him again.

“That…is true. But it is important we keep up our own strength, that we may be able to do more. Exhausting ourselves would prove us useless to anyone.” Arluin spoke logically, hoping to appeal to Albain. “But it is an unfortunate symptom of war. We simply cannot save everyone.” His voice quieted, not liking the truth in his own words.

"That is not good enough.” Albain replied quickly, snapping at him.  
“We should be-” He attempted to add, but was cut off by the other man.

“You speak as if we have not saved anyone at all. You must remember these people are fighting for their freedom just as hard as we do in trying to stop the Templars. Besides, you know the others well enough. If they thought being out there right now would help, they would be. Even if it got them hurt.”

The white coated assassin sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping ever so slightly. His hand tightened around Arluin’s, and he appeared to accept the other’s words.

“We will be back out there first thing in the morning. You have my word.” Arluin nuzzled against the side of Albain’s neck. “Now come, get some rest?” He asked even more gently this time, and slowly unwrapped his arms.

“I will hold you to it.” Albain answered, but nodded. He could not stop the hint of a smile that had reappeared on his features. “…Fine, fine.” He shook his head, but turned to face Arluin. Albain brought his hands up to either side of Arluin’s face and pulled him into a loving kiss.

Even Arluin had not expected the move, but he certainly was not one to complain. They were alone, and he did not hesitate to return the kiss.  
His worry had now faded, and he lead Albain back to their sleeping quarters.  
It was not long before they had stripped out of unnecessary clothing- boots, gloves, and their coats, and had curled up underneath a thick blanket. Sleep soon took the both of them, limbs wrapped around each other, wanting to keep the other close.

Arno found them the next morning, still asleep and curled up together. He smiled at the sight, but did not wake them just yet. A rare lull in the fighting allowed them some more time for themselves.


	12. Paranoid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #112 Paranoid, Icecream and Greencoat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arluin (Greencoat) / Albain (Icecream)

It had not been more than a day since Albain and Arluin made their feelings for each other unmistakable. Being the more outgoing one, Albain had spoken first about their relationship, and though Arluin’s reply was more subdued, he certainly could not deny that he loved the other man.

Arluin knew what he was getting into, or so he thought. To care for, or love someone, was a very dangerous decision. It made one instantly vulnerable. He had given his heart to another person, and anything could happen to it now. Albain he trusted, that was clear enough- it was everyone else he could not. Templars and soldiers now appeared as more of a threat than ever before.  
What had started off as a legitimate concern soon became much more. Arluin woke in the middle of the night covered in sweat and shaking. The nightmare had started out benign enough, the two were crouched on a rooftop above a crowded street. There was a row of soldiers on one side, and a much larger group of rebels on the other. Their intention had been to intervene as soon as the fighting broke out, but before they could do anything, a shot rang out like a clap of thunder. The rest played out in slow motion- red blossomed in the center of Albain’s chest, the white coated assassin’s eyes going wide before he toppled over, and off the rooftop.  
Arluin tried to catch him. His hands had caught Albain’s coat, but the weight of the man was too much, and the fabric slipped from his fingers.  
He was helpless to save Albain, and the shock of seeing his lover’s body hit the street below was too much.  
He took a few moments to catch his breath, but it took several long minutes before his heart stopped hammering in his chest. Arluin sat there a while longer, his head in his hands as he tried to erase the horrible images from his mind.  
His only peace of mind was that Albain was still beside him and asleep. He did not want to explain what had just happened in the dream.  
Eventually, though, Arluin’s heart rated slowed, and he laid back down against the pillows, hoping the nightmare would not plague him again this night.

It was at least another hour of uncomfortable thoughts before he finally convinced himself no such thing would happen to Albain, and eventually he managed to drift off again.

The next morning had Arluin still looking tired, but he hid the reason why.

Albain seemed to know something was off, but did not press Arluin for details. Instead he kept an eye on the other man, making sure he was not acting too out of sorts. His concerned lessened as the day went on, however, as they met up with Abélard and Arno. Things had been quiet recently, so their meeting was more about catching up and sharing plans for their next move.

Arluin did his best to act his normal self, becoming more interested in the other three’s conversation, as it distracted him fairly well.

The rest of the day was quiet, however, and Arluin kept himself busy with small tasks. A quick outing to get more food, cleaning up the room they were staying in, and then inspecting his weapons- anything to keep him from being idle.

By the time evening rolled in, he found himself tired, and hoped a good night’s sleep would help him forget the nightmare entirely. As they settled into bed, his hopes rose as Albain curled up beside him. His arm wrapped around Arluin’s torso in a tight hug, and the older assassin responded by trailing his finger’s gently through Albain’s hair.  
It was not long before the two fell asleep in each others arms, both looking content.

Unfortunately, it was not to stay that way. Once more, somewhere in the early hours of the morning, Arluin woke with a cry. The same nightmare had repeated itself, and once more he’d failed to save Albain. It was just as painful as the first time.  
This time, however, Albain had been woken by the sudden movement and noise.

The younger assassin’s eyes were wide with concern, and sat up beside Arluin, immediately trying to comfort him. “It is alright, you are safe.” He soothed, his hand slowly rubbing up and down Arluin’s back.

“It’s not—” Arluin paused, waiting until his heaving breaths evened out before trying again. “I…I was not the one in danger.” He rubbed the cold sweat from his brow, and closed his eyes.

“Then who?” Albain asked quietly, worried for Arluin. He’d never seen the man in such a state. Nightmares were not uncommon in general, but in all the time he had known Arluin, this was the first time he had witnessed the aftermath of one of his.

“You…” Arluin forced himself to answer, though he barely got the single word out. He slumped against Albain, who instantly held him tight.

“I am not going anywhere. I am right here with you.” Albain assured him, though he was still disturbed by the entire situation. What had brought this nightmare on in the first place?

The older assassin did not mention he’d had the same dream the night before, instead focusing on Albain’s reassuring presence. There was nothing wrong. They were indeed both safe. Why was this happening?

Albain continued to talk to him, calmingly, until neither of them could keep their eyes open.

The next morning had Arluin looking even more tired, and visibly shaken. He remained silent for a good part of the day, feeling embarrassed that Albain had seen him in such a state.

Little things had held no concern now began to bother him. Unexpected noises from outside had Arluin flinching. Open windows even made him nervous. He went so far as to lock the door to their room.

The white coated assassin picked up on these signs of paranoia all too easily. He said nothing, however, hoping by allowing them that Arluin might regain some sense of control and the nightmares might fade.

They did not. For the third night in a row, Arluin faced the death of Albain. He woke, shaking, and got out of bed.

Albain found the other man pacing back and forth in front of the window, silhouetted by the pale light of early morning. Wordlessly, he joined him, leaning against the wall with a distraught look written all over his face.  
“Do you want to talk about it?” He tried, gently, placing a hand on Arluin’s shoulder.

“No.” He shook his head, and moved back towards the bed. It was an uneasy sleep that kept him there the rest of the night.

The next day had Albain not only wanting answers, but debating asking Arno and Abélard. There was more to this than the nightmares themselves, but he could not get Arluin to give much more than brief explanations.

Such help would have to wait, for the other two assassins in question showed up unexpectedly. They had come across information of another riot being planned, and it was going to happen soon.  
Despite Albain’s better judgement, he promised the two he and Arluin would join them at the site of the riot.  
Perhaps a little action would get Arluin’s mind off the bad dreams.

It had taken nearly an hour of convincing to get the now paranoid green coated assassin to the location of the growing riot. His gaze constantly darted around, as if Arluin was convinced they would be attacked at any moment. He forbade either of them from using the rooftops, and looked ready to attack anything that came too close to them without warrant.

Albain was now regretting his decision to have Arluin come along, his harried mind obviously showing him in no state to fight.  
He’d turned to the green coated assassin, about to suggest they go back, when a sudden rush of movement came towards them. A group of soldiers had sought to flank the rebels and catch them off guard, but he and Arluin were now the only thing standing in their way. At the ready, the soldiers stopped and leveled their muskets, only moments from firing.

Arluin reacted immediately, pushing his exhausted and stress-rattled body to create a barrier between the line of soldiers and Albain’s exposed form.  
The shots rang out, and one of the musket balls found its mark in Arluin’s shoulder.  
He staggered and gasped, attempting to keep on his feet for the eventual second barrage, but his legs gave out and he went down. The pain spread through his shoulder but his only concern was Albain, who’s now blurring image hovered over him. It was the last thing he saw before his vision went black.

———

The nightmare started again. Arluin was sure he had died, and was doomed to replay the same images again and again. For once, he was wrong. Something was different. His attempt to catch Albain- even with the three times that had failed before- was successful. His grip held tight and though he began to slip from the roof, nothing would break it now.  
Just as the both of them fell, everything became bright.  
He woke, just as quickly as the nights before, and was welcomed by a searing pain in his shoulder. The shock of it jogged his memory, quickly bringing back images of what had happened before. He quickly regretted the decision to sit up, and with a groan and a cough, made his consciousness known.

Albain appeared beside him, relief washing over his features. “And here you were worried about me.”The white coated assassin shook his head, before resting it against Arluin’s. “You took a bullet for me-” He whispered. “You crazy bastard. The rebels heard the shot and drove the soldiers back before they could fire off another round.” Albain briefly explained what had happened.

Arluin sighed deeply, bringing his uninjured arm up and wrapping it around Albain’s neck and shoulders. The fact he’d remained uninjured was all that mattered to him- he’d finally saved Albain. The nightmare had stopped.  
Eventually sleep took him again, and this time he did not dream of anything at all.


	13. Hair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abélard looks after Arno, as the four finally have a chance to relax.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arno x Abélard (Axeman), Arluin (Greencoat), Albain (Icecream)

With the chaos over, the four assassins emerged from the smoke and moved out of what had been the town square. In short, there had been another violent battle between the angry commoners and the soldiers that had been sent in to quell the uprising. Though there were numerous casualties on both sides, the commoners had once more proved victorious. Some of the men and women were picking through the rubble, finding discarded weapons and ammunition. Others attended to the wounded, while a final few secured the area and made sure they had claimed the town square for their own purposes. None of them, however, paid any attention to the four assassins.

The small group of men did not seem to care, however. They knew these victories were meant for the people, and claiming anything else would likely only prompt distrust.  
It was more important to them that they had all come out of the battle relatively unscathed. Save for a few cuts and bruises, among disheveled clothing, they were no worse for the wear.  
For now, they had time to spare, and Arluin had the insight to draw some water from a nearby well- one that had somehow remained intact through the battle. He collected it in a bucket, and took it inside, after they chose a newly abandoned building to take shelter in.

Albain was the first to walk through the building, both making sure it was not already occupied and also taking stock of any items they could use. He relayed his observations, and the four finally settled in a bit, now able to relax.

They wasted no time in starting a fire, Arluin hanging the bucket of water over the fireplace to heat it up. They likely would not eat tonight, but it was something the four were accustomed to. Every so often they would skip meals, whether by choice or necessity. There was no food inside anyways, for they had holed up in what was little more than a store house for furniture and other household items.

Abélard still appeared restless, even now that the battle was over. He was the first to make use of the water, taking some to scrub the blood off his hands and arms. He kept himself busy afterwards by moving around some of the furniture- which were covered in sheets- towards the fireplace. There were only two sofas, but if none of them sprawled out they could share them without much problem.

Arluin had opened the windows, for their movement inside the room had stirred up dust.

Arno had been quiet nearly the entire time, and was now staring out one of said windows, watching the sun as it slowly sank towards the horizon.  
It was then he felt a tap on his shoulder, but before he could turn, Abélard was already climbing out the window and to the roof just above them.

There was no need to question what the man wanted, and he followed suit, making it to the roof just after Abélard had.

“I did not take you as one who enjoyed watching sunsets.” Arno teased, finally speaking up as he sat down beside Abélard.

“I normally don’t.” He admitted, not entirely sure what had driven him up here in the first place. But even with the aftermath of the battle still apparent below, in the streets, it was serene up here.

The younger man sat back and removed his hood, revealing a mess of dark brown hair. It had grown longer than he normally kept it, and had been held back in a low ribbon, one that was now threatening to come loose and fall away. He certainly had not expected Abélard’s hand to brush through it, and turned his head towards the older man, his surprise showing through.

“Stay still.” Abélard replied, looking amused at Arno’s reaction. He shuffled to the side, now sitting behind the younger man, and pulled the ribbon from his hair. He ran his hands through Arno’s hair repeatedly, carefully releasing the knots and smoothing it down at the same time.

Arno relaxed again, very quickly in fact. He closed his eyes and tipped his head back, his shoulders slumping as the older assassin continued to play with his hair.

“If you fall asleep I am leaving you up here.” Abélard nudged Arno forward a bit, his hands surprisingly gentle as they made a final movement in finishing his braiding of the younger assassin’s hair. He tied it off, knotting the ribbon this time to keep it in place, before pulling his hands back.

With a sliver of sun just above the horizon, the sky had darkened considerably, but there was still just enough light for Abélard to enjoy his handiwork.

Arno ran his own hand over the back of his head, soon finding the neatly tied off braid. “Nor did I expect you to know how to do this…” He chuckled, but truly wondered where such a rough and tumble man as Abélard had learned to braid hair.

“I had a younger sister, but that is a story for another time. Right now, we should head back inside.” The bigger man answered, taking one last look at the sky before finally standing back up and making his way back down in through the window.

Arno was right behind him once more, but stopped just after stepping foot into the room.  
Albain and Arluin were curled up against each other on one of the sofas, and fast asleep.  
The youngest assassin could not help but smile and shake his head. It had taken long enough for the two to openly show affection, whether they’d meant to this time or not.  
He stepped towards the pair, but was held fast by Abélard, who motioned not to disturb them.

“Come sleep.” He took his place on one end of the second sofa, leaving room for Arno, wherever he chose to join him.

The younger assassin did not hesitate to lay down beside the other man, his back to Abélard’s chest. No protest came from him, and he was asleep within minutes.

This did not surprise Abélard at all, and with a final smile he wrapped an arm protectively around Arno, soon drifting off as well.


	14. Author's Note

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just something I thought I should post/say.

I did just want to point out that:

Elise is not mentioned in any of the chapters/prompt fills simply because I had written these out before the game even came out. (And all but a couple before we even saw Elise in the cinematic trailer/knew who she was.)

Plus, I thought for sure the other three were going to be separate characters, but after writing them and making up headcanons they took on a life of their own, so I tried to ignore Ubisoft's "Nope it's just Arno" canon, and substitute my own. 

Also, there likely won't be any more updates unless I find other ficlets or prompts I've saved that did not get uploaded already. I still love these four, but The Order 1886 has drawn my attention away.

 

Anyways, a huge thank you to everyone who read any of these! Or left kudos, etc! I hope you found at least one or two of these enjoyable. ☺

Safety and peace.   
-Danudane


	15. Dying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr prompt: Arnaxe / "Dying"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arno, Axeman (Abélard), Greencoat (Arluin), Icecream (Albain)  
> (So it would seem tumblr prompts got me again. XD)

Albain had always said no two fights ever go the same.  
Arluin had told him to expect the worst, and then to make sure that did not happen.  
Why this particular group of Jacobins had proved more than a match, Arno could not say. Perhaps it was because they had been separated. Or maybe they were just tired- it had been a long week, after all. Perhaps a bit of both.  
But where Abélard was normally a superb fighter and nearly untouchable in battle, Arno had noticed some of his movements were slowed…sluggish even.  
It did not worry him too much, however, for Abélard was still a force to be reckoned with, and more than capable of defending himself.  
Or so Arno thought.

As the younger man rolled to the side to dodge a swing of a sword, he glimpsed the axe wielding assassin take a heavy hit to the jaw from a particularly robust Jacobin.  
The enemy matched Abélard‘s height and weight, and was bold enough to only be using his fists.  
Abélard moved to bring his axe back up and swing it again, but the man blocked the move from the start. The assassin changed his tactics instantaneously, and threw his head forward.  
The headbutt connected with the Jacobin’s face and nose, from which blood flowed immediately.

This only seemed to anger the Jacobin, who fought with renewed vigor.

Arno felled another enemy before attempting to fight his way closer to Abélard, and where a dart from his phantom blade would have been very convenient, he had already spent them.

Another glance found Abélard staggering backwards, a bloodied lip and a bruise already forming on his cheek. His grip had tightened on his axe before he swung it again, in a downward arc. The Jacobin stopped it short again, and in a surprisingly fluid motion tucked his shoulder in and charged Abélard.

The assassin was knocked backwards and off balance, into a stack of crates.  
Abélard received a few more punches before Arno substituted a rock for a phantom blade dart, and chucked it at the Jacobin’s head.

The man grunted and swayed unsteadily, only giving Abélard a brief reprieve.

Arno was torn from helping further, as another enemy rushed him.

Abélard had taken the few seconds- while the brute was not looking- to grab a knife hidden under the back of his sash, before feigning a daze. When the Jacobin reached down to grab his collar and deliver more punishment, Abélard drove the knife up and into the Jacobin’s neck. It was not luck that had the blade severing a major artery, and within seconds the brute grew pale, falling forward and onto Abélard. It was a wet gurgle and a desperate clawing at his neck that signaled the Jacobin’s last moments of life, as blood poured from his neck and stained the front of Abélard‘s clothes.

With a final push, the axe wielding assassin freed himself from the Jacobin’s weight with a heavy sigh, and stayed laying back against the smashed crates.  
The rest of the enemies were gone, or limping off, and he was tired-

“Abélard!” Arno cried, only seeing the man he loved smashed into crates and covered in blood. He rushed to Abélard‘s side, fearing the worst.  
He cursed, glancing back and calling to the others for help.

“Arno-” Abélard was tired, but by no means in the shape Arno believed him to be.

“Don’t speak- Arluin, he’s lost too much blood-” Arno turned to the green coated assassin, before looking back to the axe wielder.

“Arno.” Abélard started again, this time sitting up, against Arno’s best efforts to keep him down. “I am fine. The blood is his.” He motioned to the dead brute with the slit neck.

Arno’s expression went from a worried shock to a sudden realization, as his mind connected the dots. There was a sudden blush across his cheeks, embarrassed that he’d misinterpreted the situation so badly.  
“I thought you were dying!” He frowned, most at his own frustration, and shoved Abélard‘s arm. He huffed, and finally stood back up, though he was dodging the very amused look from Albain. Even Arluin had a smirk on his face.

“Help me up.” Abélard chuckled, wincing slightly as Arno did so. He was understandably sore from the fight, and rubbed at the darkening bruise on his cheek, but was otherwise alright.

“Don’t worry me like that again.” Arno seemed adamant on placing blame, but was not so subtly relieved that the other man was ok.

“Can’t promise that.” Abélard replied, but wrapped an arm around Arno’s shoulder’s in an alternate reassurance.

That night found them curled up, safe and warm, with Arno’s arms wrapped tightly around Abélard‘s middle. It was an unconscious but instinctive attempt to keep him as close as possible.

Abélard lay awake, gently running his fingers through Arno’s long hair- a gesture that worked wonders when the younger assassin seemed troubled.  
Arno had consequently fallen asleep soon after, and much to Abélard‘s relief, a much more peaceful look on his face.


	16. Broken Pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr prompt from Anon. Arno x Axeman (Abélard)

It had hit him harder than he thought it would, having to kill Bellec. The man had been his mentor, and a father figure in place of his own. If not for him, the crazy bastard that he was, Arno would likely still be imprisoned within the Bastille. Or worse, dead.  
The events leading up to the fight had been unsettling enough, ending with the murder of Mirabeau. The leader of the Assassins had been planning something quite ambitious, trying to unite the Templars and Assassins…or, at least, call for a truce. He’d found common ground with Monsieur de la Serre, but that was as far as it had gone.  
Arno thought there might even be a chance, until there wasn’t. Bellec had poisoned Mirabeau, as he seemed hell bent on purging the entire Assassin order.

It was shock that greeted him first, on confronting Mirabeau’s killer. Arno was sure this was some sick joke until Bellec readily admitted what he’d done, and why. There was no question the Order was at much at risk from outside threats as it was from the inside. But the purge that Bellec promised would lead to only more unnecessary slaughter. As much as Arno hated to think it, in that moment, he knew his mentor would have to die. They had both made their choices, and there was no turning back.  
Still, it did not stop Arno from begging Bellec to reconsider. To change his point of view. There were other options- there had to be.

But Bellec remained steadfast and unconvinced, nor did he hold back when fighting Arno off.  
The younger assassin had flashbacks of their time in the Bastille, training with the rough wooden weapons that could hardly be called swords.  
But this fight was for real, and neither of them could stop until the other was dead.

Bellec’s maneuvers were wild, almost. Both desperate and intense. Each clash of Bellec’s blade upon Arno’s own sent sharp jolts of pain up the younger Assassin’s arms. Clearly some sort of madness had taken his mentor. Bellec had never fought so hard before.

Both of them, in their own way, knew this was the end. One of them would rise victorious, while the other one fell.

Arno had no intention of letting himself be the latter, though after what had quickly become an exhausting fight, they had both fallen. First to the ledge below the one they’d be fighting on, and then crashing through the large stained glass window that marked the front of the church.  
As with most falls, the ground seemed to greet Arno far too quickly, and a wave of black blanketed his senses temporarily. All, it seemed, except for the ones that registered pain. He swore he felt something crack, or pop, as he slammed into the floor. For a good minute he was sure he’d broken at least a few bones, likely starting with the arm he’d instinctually attempted to brace himself with.

He let out a breathy groan and forced himself up, finding his whole body immensely sore, but was utterly surprised to find his arm still working- at least momentarily. Perhaps it had been his ribs that had taken the most, as he quickly found out it was much harder than it should have been to breathe. Each exhausted inhale racked his body with more discomfort.

Bellec had somehow managed to avoid serious injury in the fall, and had already disappeared into the rafters of the church by the time Arno had gotten up.

The younger Assassin was inwardly dreading even the idea of climbing up after him, knowing he’d be outmatched in his current state.  
Again, he called to Bellec, attempting once more to talk sense into the older man. It was almost a relief when Bellec would hear none of it, and almost landed on top of him as he jumped down.

It did not take long for Arno to realize, however, that Bellec had not come out of this as unscathed as he had first thought. The old man was holding himself differently, his whole position stuck somewhere between tension and growing exhaustion.

It was at that moment a familiar voice called from outside the church’s locked front gate.  
Abélard had appeared, looking a little haggard after his rush to find Arno. He had a concerned look on his face, instinct and experience quickly telling him that Arno was hurting. “Arno-“ He called, and immediately the younger assassin turned.

“I’m fine!” He lied, his gaze quickly returning to Bellec.

The older man had wasted no time in exploiting an obvious weakness, and had pulled a pistol from its holster, the barrel already aimed at Abélard.

A phantom blade flew from the tiny crossbow on Arno’s bracer, the sliver of metal burying itself deep in Bellec’s forearm.

At that the fighting continued once more, though both their strikes were far weaker than before.

Abélard watched from outside, his first impulse was to jolt forward and help Arno, but the iron gate between them held fast.

Despite his injuries Arno knew it was now or never. He threw every last ounce of strength into his last three moves- two blocks and a slash, and finally his blade connected. The tip tore deep and across Bellec’s side, bringing the older Assassin to his hands and knees.

Bellec rattled off a few more insults before daring Arno to finish this, to kill him now. After that came a threat to kill Abélard and the others, if Arno spared him.

Though hatred at Bellec- and everything the man had done or said- burned within him, there was still an empty and cold feeling when he drove his hidden blade into Bellec’s heart. Within seconds it was over, and as Bellec collapsed and lay dying, Arno saw his memories. Only these made Arno’s chest hurt more.  
Memories of Bellec saving his father, of the previously pristine pocket-watch that now seemed a stone’s weight in his pocket.

Arno left his former mentor lying there in the center of the church, if only because he had no more strength left in him. The adrenaline that had kept him up and fighting this entire time was quickly starting to wear off, and he was feeling his injuries now more than ever. Besides his labored breaths and groans of pain he stayed quiet, even as he unlatched the metal gate and limped outside, clutching his ribs. Arno practically fell into Abélard’s waiting arms, his only relief being when he was gathered up and carried back to their hideout.

He refused to look anyone in the eye, even as Albain and Arluin had anxiously awaited his return. They had been absent only because they’d been keeping watch over Mirabeau’s body until it had been moved to safety.

Abélard had taken care to place him on the plushest piece of furniture they had in the hideout, before kneeling down beside him and taking his bloodied hands. “I’m sorry.” He spoke genuinely as he tried to meet Arno’s gaze, but could not.

The young assassin had shut himself in to his own feelings, trying to process what had just occurred. Why had Bellec turned on them? Why so suddenly? Why forsake everything they had built up?  
Even after all Bellec’s ranting there only seemed one reoccurring question- Why?

“Arno, let me see your side…” Arluin spoke, though the voices outside Arno’s mind still sounded distant and fuzzy at best. He made no attempt to hear them clearer.

Arluin sighed as he got very little reaction from the youngest assassin, and asked for Albain’s help in getting Arno’s coat, vest, and shirt off. It was never a simple matter, with all the layers and leather to remove.

Pulling up the white undershirt revealed a whole canvas of dark bruises, splayed out across Arno’s lower back, side, and ribs. Arluin did not hesitate to carefully trace his fingers over each faint ridge that identified Arno’s rib bones. None of them felt badly broken or crooked at all, and for that Arno had been lucky.  
Still, a slightly harder press to two lower ribs earned a pained gasp and a hiss from the younger Assassin.

“I would guess he’s cracked these two, here.” Arluin spared Arno a second prodding and simply pointed to a specific spot. It was not coincidental the most prevalent bruising was in the same area.

“Just give him something for the pain. I’ll make sure he doesn’t move around.” Abélard commented, a defeated look on his face, as it seemed he was unable to do anything else for Arno at the moment.

It was only a few days later that found Arno sitting on the floor, back against the wall, and a bottle of wine in his hand. It was less than half full, something- Arno mused- seemed all too poignant.  
He was drunk and he knew it. Drunk by choice, in a rather pathetic attempt to drown his memories of the battle with Bellec. Of what he saw as Bellec lay dying.

He swore he could hear his father’s pocket watch begin ticking again, and he reached into his pocket to take it out. The now dulled silver still had some shine to it, what was left catching what little light there was in the room.

Arno sighed, and let his head drop forward in silent defeat. He may have been the victor, but he certainly did not feel like it. And at this point it had nothing to do with his still sore ribs, nor the other minor injuries he’d received. A few scrapes and bumps were the least of his pain.

Another swig of wine did little to help, but he kept at it until the bottle was empty at his side.

“…You shouldn’t do this to yourself, Arno.” Abélard spoke gently as he approached, devastated to see Arno so broken.

“Easy for you to say.” The younger assassin answered, though he still had not lifted his head.

“There are other ways to…” Abélard stopped himself, and simply sat down beside the younger man.  
“You could not have swayed Bellec to change and you know it. The man was even more stubborn than you are.” He started again, with the root of the problem.

“And now he’s dead.” Arno replied, resentment and anger dripping from his tone. It was a pent up anger that had stemmed from many things, and most recently the reminder that there were simply things he could not change- no matter how hard he tried.

“He would have killed you otherwise. And everyone else who stood in his way. You heard him say it.” Abélard reminded him of this as well. “You saved the Brotherhood.” The axe wielding assassin continued, not realizing he had said something triggering until it was too late.

The empty wine bottle shattered as it was slammed against the stone floor. The broken pieces went every which way, some of them skidding to a halt a few feet away.

Abélard had nearly flinched at the sudden and violent response, but held still at Arno’s outburst.

The younger assassin was suddenly heaving through labored breaths, as if he was trying to hold back a sob.  
Abélard leaned forward and picked Arno up, his own boots sparing him glass shards in his feet- as where Arno had been without shoes.  
He carried Arno back to one of the large plush sofas and simply held him in a careful embrace.

Soon enough a few sobs came through, a release of all the pent up emotions that had not yet found their way out.

Abélard said nothing, he simply let the younger man grieve. There was a misconception about most Assassins, that they were cold and uncaring. But it was clear now more than ever that they were just as human and fallible to emotion as anyone else. Perhaps even more so, for they had to live with those they had killed on their conscious, sometimes forever.

Still, Abélard hoped this would pass, and in time Arno would believe him when he said there could have been no other outcome. He himself had known Bellec as highly over-zealous at best, his notions of right and wrong too ingrained to ever be uprooted.  
He hoped Arno would learn from this and one day, perhaps, even make something positive of it. If nothing else, know that he saved the rest of the Assassins who would have stood in the way of Bellec’s master plan.

Eventually it did pass and Arno clung to Abélard’s collar, his head resting snugly under the other Assassin’s chin.  
Abélard continued to hold Arno, though his arms loosened just enough to remove any pressure from the younger man’s still sore ribs.

“…You said something about better ways to-” Arno started, finally speaking up.

“-Yes, there are plenty. We will go over a few tomorrow.” Abélard cut him short, only because he could hear the exhaustion creeping into Arno’s voice once more.  
“For now, just get some sleep.” He suggested, and was glad to find Arno had no intentions of fighting this time. Within minutes Arno had fallen into a deep sleep against Abélard’s chest, and would not wake until well into the next day.


End file.
